


a handy-dandy guide to dating for beginners

by thelabours



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, osamu's me in real life tbh, self indulgent af sorry not sorry, they go out on a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelabours/pseuds/thelabours
Summary: Osamu picks up a book at the store to help him with his crush on Shirabu. Things don't really go the way he expects them to, but then again, nothing ever does.





	a handy-dandy guide to dating for beginners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beewachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beewachan/gifts).



> for beewa chan and that one other writer who wrote for osashira, luv u

**Step 1: successfully ask your target out on a date.**

 

Gathering every inch of his courage, Osamu walks towards his target: Shirabu Kenjirou. It isn’t like they’ve never talked about hanging out before. In fact, after last week’s study group, Osamu’s fairly sure Shirabu’s interested. Or, at least, more than he is in Organic Chemistry. 

That’s probably not the best comparison, in hindsight.

He walks up to Shirabu in a way he hopes is casual (he knows he can pull it off without Atsumu around, he just hopes that fucker doesn’t pop out of nowhere like an unwanted rash). 

Shirabu’s on his phone, looking bored and suddenly Osamu wonders if this is such a good idea after all. _What if he already has a boyfriend? No, wait, he said he wasn’t seeing anybody, right? What if he wasn’t really interested in me? What if I dreamed all of that up? What—_

“Oh, hey Osamu.”

Too late to back out now. Osamu gets tingles every time Shirabu says his name. He’d insisted Shirabu call him by his given name because he and Atsumu share a friend circle (as if sharing a room for the last twenty years wasn’t enough).

He prays his face is still in the neutral deadpan mode he’d caught a glimpse of in the window. _Stay cool, Osamu._

“Hey. Wanna get milkshakes this weekend? To celebrate passing Chemistry this semester?”

Shirabu blinks once, twice, and Osamu’s heartbeat is already drumming loud in his ears. He’s about to say _it’s OK if you don’t want to_ when Shirabu smiles his big smile—not the one gets when he solves a really difficult question and gets it correct (up to three decimal places!)—the one he smiles when he thinks no one’s looking. Or when he sees a kitty napping. It makes his eyes crinkle and his dimple peeks through and Osamu’s fairly sure he’s a goner. 

“Sure. Saturday afternoon?”

“Yeah,” he manages to say without sounding too winded. 

Osamu could’ve spent the next few years staring at Shirabu had Atsumu not chosen that exact moment to call. The ringtone is loud and Osamu hurries, fumbling like they do in the cartoons and picks up somewhere between _to catch them is my real test_ and _to train them is my cause._

“Bro, did you ask him out!”

Osamu looks over to the window and spots his brother waving at him. He doesn’t wave back and promptly hangs up.

Shirabu arches an eyebrow in his direction.

“Wrong number,” Osamu shrugs it off.

“Cool ringtone.”

_Fucking Atsumu._

 

**Step 2: look the best you can for your date.**

 

“Here,” Atsumu says, shoving a handful of pastel apparel into Osamu’s arms. The pale aesthetic almost burns. He looks around surreptitiously, hoping for some hint of black. Or navy blue. He’s ready to settle for a dark green, too. Maybe a nice, neutral grey?

No luck.

He picks up the first shirt—a pink floral button up.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No! I look great in all of these. You’re gonna look fabulous ‘lil bro,” he pretends to wipe away a tear from his eye, “your first date. How quickly the young ones grow up.”

Osamu eyes the shirt warily. “Do you still have the shirt I made for you for our last birthday?”

Atsumu scowls and mumbles a ‘yeah’ and digs through his closet, and reappears with what is presumably the only black garment in his possession. A black shirt that reads ‘THIS IS A NO MIYA ATSUMU ZONE.’ Osamu’s really proud of that one.

“You’re gonna look like shit.”

“Might I remind you, we look exactly the same, Sir High-Fashion.”

Atsumu strikes a pose and pretends to consider.

“I should’ve gone into modelling instead of Economics,” he says in a deep, serious voice.

“The industry benefits greatly from your absence.”

He gets a facefull of baby blue sweater.

 

**Step 3: meet up with your date on time.**

 

Osamu had thought he was way too early for their date. Or ‘hang out’ thing. Whatever. The relief he’d felt was indescribably enormous when he’d spotted Shirabu sitting at the table near the back, glaring at his phone. Uh oh. Someone’s sent him a shitty meme about his hair again. Kawanishi’d better watch out.

He slows down into a walk, hoping to look casual and cool.

“Hey,” he says, sitting opposite Shirabu.

“Oh. Hey.” Shirabu looks less murderous than before and for that Osamu is glad. A Mad Shirabu Kenjirou is also Hot Shirabu Kenjirou and Osamu doesn’t know if he could handle dying while sporting a boner.

“Hey,” he says, pulling up a chair opposite Shirabu, almost colliding with a waiter carrying about six different smoothies on a tray (and whose face carried a glare that looked like it had a very real intention of putting Osamu six feet under had anything spilled).

“Uh, so I ordered your drink so you wouldn’t have to wait, is that OK?” Shirabu asks after a good ten seconds of awkward silence between them.

Osamu stops in the middle of his internal monologue ( _‘what should I say?? What if he wants to go home? What was I supposed to order? Wait they don’t have plain vanilla here, do they, oh my—‘_ ) to stare at Shirabu.

“Plain vanilla, right? Boring as always, Osamu, you never pick a new flavour.” Shirabu’s smirk makes Osamu’s heart clench painfully.

“You don’t either, Mr I-think-mint-and-chocolate-go-together,” Osamu retaliates.

And so, they sink into the familiar territory of flinging mild insults at each other and trash talking their friends.

 

**Step 4: if you’re going out to eat, make sure you order something you both enjoy.**

 

“So, French fries, right?” Osamu asks.

Shirabu just gapes at him.

“No, you _dimwit_ ,”—to Osamu—“it’s obviously potato wedges, thank you,” he tells the lady at the counter politely.

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid it’s French fries.” He stands firmly by his statement, and he hopes Shirabu understands the grave mistake he’s making.

“ _No_ , it’s _potato wedges_.”

“ _Fries_.”

“ _Wedges_.”

They go on for an indefinite while longer, glaring at each other and holding up the line until the lady waiting for their order tires of this back-and-forth and suggests they share a mixed potato basket. They agree reluctantly.

 

**Step 5: don’t do anything embarrassing!**

 

Osamu has never been this mortified in his whole life. _Never_. Not even when he wet the bed (and Atsumu along with it) when he was ten and had to bribe his brother with toffee so he wouldn’t open his fat gob in front of their friends.

He’d only wanted some ketchup. And to spend quality time with Shirabu. The universe, it seems, wasn’t in the mood to comply with his wishes. So here they were, Osamu holding the bottle of ketchup and staring at the giant blob of ketchup on Shirabu’s white sweater. 

The little Atsumu voice inside Osamu’s head goes off on a tangent (very much like the real Atsumu would) about how scandalous it was to wear white in this day and age, when obviously pastel colours are the new trend, and how it really wasn’t Shirabu’s colour, would he be interested in trying a hot pink instead? Osamu ignores this voice very much the way he would ignore the real Atsumu, sans the undignified squawking from the real version.

They’re both sitting in dismayed silence. Osamu’s kissing his friendship goodbye (tears, fanfare, and all) inside his head, his inner monologue going several hundred miles an hour. He’s in the middle of reciting— _cold, indeed, and labour lost: Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, Frost!_ —when Shirabu bursts out laughing.

Osamu’s almost convinced he’s been possessed, and uses the ketchup bottle to defend himself when Shirabu (who’s stopped laughing, almost, and Osamu’s a little sad because Shirabu’s laugh sounds so cute, demon or not) says, “Your face!” and continues giggling.

Endearing as it is, Osamu’s just a little peeved on having missed out on the joke when his phone pings with anew message from Atsumu. It’s a perfectly good blackmailable picture of Osamu holding the ketchup bottle and the ketchup stain on Shirabu’s sweater. He turns to look outside the window and is met by the twin smirks of none other than Miya Atsumu and Kawanishi Taichi. They’ve clearly got great friends.

Fucking Atsumu.

He turns back to Shirabu and begins to apologise profusely. As one does in such situations.

“I’m really, really sorry, if you let me, I could get it washed and dry-cleaned and ironed and everything, please don’t get mad, I really like yo—“ In his haste to apologise, he hasn’t noticed his confession (can it even be called a confession the Atsumu voice asks condescendingly) or the effect it’s had on Shirabu, whose laughter has completely disappeared.

“Wait.”

Osamu stops, mid-sentence.

“You really mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“You said you liked me. Really?”

“I—when did—yeah. Yeah, I do,” Osamu says, cursing his lack of a brain to mouth filter. He really hopes Shirabu won’t just get up and leave. Even though he probably should, after the whole Ketchup Incident.

“I usually don’t agree on second dates with people who ruin my favourite sweater, but…” Shirabu looks at Osamu seriously, “if you tell me where I can buy your shirt, I’ll do it.”

An indignant HEY! is heard from outside, and several patrons turn towards the window where Kawanishi is hurriedly ushering Atsumu out before the management can kick them out, flashing a quick thumbs up at them.

“Wait, you really mean it?” Osamu asks.

“Mean what?” Shirabu asks, dabbing at the ketchup stain in an attempt to clean up without much success.

“That you wanted to go out with me on another date, or was that just for those two, I mean it _was_ pretty funny, but I—“

“Osamu. I’d love to,” Shirabu says.

“Only if you promise not to spill any other condiments on me,” he tacks on as an afterthought.

Osamu thinks that’s a pretty fair deal.

 

**Step 6: success! Enjoy your relationship!**

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written for hq in so long what is a shirabu this is def ooc and i have an exam tomorrow it's not the middle of the night when i type this hahahaha what are u saying anyway sorry for the severe lack of cats if u hmu i'll send u cute cat pics because i'm chill like that
> 
> my tumblr (@iceandbrimstone) n my twt (@kirikamis)
> 
> also this happened irl to my friend (he and her boyfriend have been together for 3 years now wow) but it also happened with me back when i was in a relationship and i was osamu can u tell why i'm single now lmao


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